


Ancient assorted Don/Colby-ish

by rjn



Category: Numb3rs (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 13:36:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16955043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rjn/pseuds/rjn
Summary: Migrated a few drabbles from LJ. Everything was headed for Don/Colby.





	1. Foot soldiers

With as much tactical background as Colby has, Don thinks his Junior Agent should understand that sometimes the best move is no move at all. If they act now on what they know, it'll only be a vanity play, a few arrests and a pat on the back. If they wait, Don's pretty sure Charlie can help them dismantle the whole operation artfully, gentle but devastating, like a house of cards going down.

Colby's seen too much of this case, that's the problem. Don knows there are pictures of all the victims in Granger's copy of the working file. Eight-by-tens of women and children that don't hold any clues and have no purpose in an investigation besides the constant reminder that they're being failed. 

Don understands that Colby's still a foot soldier in the FBI. That despite his exceedingly complex background, the spy saga that they now refer to as “Colby's extra-curricular activities” around the office, he is still the brute force around here. But it's not time yet.

“Go home,” Don says, and because the meeting room door is open, people can hear his side of the conversation. Colby's voice is too low to carry far, but Don cuts him off almost immediately anyway. 

“Go. Home.”

Colby doesn't wait around to be told a third time. He turns away from Don sharply and only slows down enough at his desk to throw his rejected attack plan back onto the pike of paperwork and to grab his coat. David shoots him a questioning look but the way Colby shakes his head doesn't ask for back-up. He knows Don is right, on some level he knows, he's just not ready to sit around and be glad about it.

There's a change in atmospheric pressure then, because they are suddenly breathing the same air, Don returning to the desk area before Colby can get onto an elevator. The whole office tense because Don thinks they should all just do what he says without him having to make explicit orders. Colby knows damn well the kind of responsibility that falls on the order-givers and he still forces Don into the role, constantly putting up just enough resistance to bring it out of him. Nothing is easy between them lately, always a battle of wills.

Colby is the first person he calls, though, when Charlie finally devises the crack that will bring down the whole structure. And Colby snaps to attention immediately, like he always will, takes the riskiest part of the raid and executes it perfectly despite gunfire and more near-misses than will fit in the reports later. 

It always strikes Don that while they rely on Charlie's math a little blindly sometimes, and they rely on Don's intuition a little more than they should, what it always comes down to is relying on David and Colby. The foot soldiers.

“Don?” David's voice is a ratcheted up a little, the way they all get when the Kevlar goes on and the big guns come out. “Someone needs to go sign off on the tactical.”

“Yeah, I'm going. Everything else is clear?”

“We're done,” David confirms. “It's all clean up from here.”

He knows now that David didn't say anything because of what everyone in the office thinks was an argument between Colby and him, so Don doesn't find out about it until they're back at the office signing off on wire transcripts and closing the case. Nothing is too far out of the ordinary, because Colby's supposed to be off debriefing SWAT anyways and he gets back to the office at a reasonable hour. It's just that his hand is bandaged like crazy and he looks pale.

Megan and David are on him before Don can embarrass himself asking about it. Colby's bashful and subdued when they surround him, but obviously a little grateful for the distraction of camaraderie. Don hangs back, frantically shuffling papers from David and Megan's reports until he finds it. Nothing too scary, a piece of shrapnel caught the back of Colby's hand. Megan figured it needed a few stitches, called it “minor” in her report, and David wrote close to the same thing.

 


	2. Distinct Impression

"Dude, what kind of stakeout has no coffee?" 

 

David is complaining loudly, his voice carrying over the tops of the cubical walls. He's perched on the edge of one desk in a familiar way made unfamiliar by the absence of Colby, who is usually sitting on his own desk in a mirror image of David's pose. Instead, a much smaller Agent Warner is there, in Colby's chair, because she is entirely the wrong height to comfortably lean the way the guys do.

 

"You don't even drink coffee," Don calls over as he walks by. Liz laughs so hard then that Don has to stop and see what the big joke is. He drapes one arm over the wall beside David and asks what the hell they're talking about.

 

"Do it again," Liz urges, and David again adopts a husky lilt and says something about it being even harder to get a date in LA than it is in Afghanistan, man. Liz laughs again.

 

"It's an impression, get it?" she says at Don's still-puzzled look.

 

"That's a terrible impression. You could have been doing Clint Eastwood or something."

 

"He's doing Colby," assures Liz.

 

"Yeah, I'm doing Colby," says David, almost proudly.

 

There's no mistaking the smokey tone that pipes up from behind them at that instant, mouth just inches behind Don's shoulder. And there's no way David's impression was capturing it right, because Don knows how Colby sounds. Don  _loves_  how Colby sounds. Especially like this, with a hint of amusement and feigned shock amidst the usual gravel.

 

"David, dude, shouldn't you at least buy me dinner first?"

 

Perfectly-timed entrances are part of what makes Colby a good agent. And Don thinks, from the way Warner nearly doubles over laughing, it's a good thing she's sitting down.

 


	3. Awkward Morning

His brother would say he's looking for meaning in a random set of circumstances and his father would say he's making a mountain out of a molehill. Just a guy's night out gone only slightly off the rails, but to Don and his sense of duty and responsibility it's only slightly short of mortifying.  
  
  
  
  
He wakes up hungover and horizontal, on the couch at Colby's place. Judging from the sun sneaking past the edges of the blinds, it's not even early. His shoes are sitting neatly side-by-side, toes tucked under the coffee table with the kind of military precision that tells Don exactly who had eased them off for him. His suit jacket is folded over the back of an armchair and his hardware; gun in holster, badge, phone and wallet, are perfectly lined up on the top of the television. Don glances down in a mild panic. He's never been able to unclip his holster without taking off his belt, but it's there, still buckled properly, and he's got a sore spot on his hip where it's been digging into him all night long. Fair enough. He'd be more uncomfortable if Colby had messed with his belt.  
  
  
  
  
A floorboard creaks behind the couch and without thinking, Don rolls off the cushions and onto the floor in a defensive crouch, the unfamiliar apartment putting him into automatic unease. Colby raises his hands in a classic “don't shoot gesture” and then rubs his eyes. If there's any consolation to how Don's feeling, it might be that Colby looks a little worse for the wear as well.  
  
  
  
  
“Good morning, boss” says Colby in his usual half-mumble, half-growl voice that David lampoons nonstop around the office. And that one little word, “boss” is enough to send Don into a guilt spiral.  
  
  
  
  
“ 'Morning Colby.” He manages not to sound as sheepish as he feels, but it doesn't look like Colby's heard him anyways. Rising to his feet, Don manages not to stagger too much trailing after Colby into the kitchen.  
  
  
  
  
There's no table in the kitchen, only a space where one should be. It's just shy of depressing, Colby's new apartment. Nothing personal in the place, not much at all, really. Just neatly organized essentials. A couple of bar stools are lined up against the kitchen island, so Don slumps into one while Colby starts pulling things out of the fridge and cupboards.   
  
  
  
  
Don's arms are folded in front of him on the countertop but he resists the urge to put his head down and mumbles out an apology instead. He doesn't usually drink like that and definitely not around his coworkers, but this last case had been rough on everyone.  
  
  
  
  
“S'alright,” Colby tells him. “I'm about to get revenge.”  
  
  
  
  
Before Don can ask him what he means by that, a brain crushing wave of noise hits him, three short bursts and one long, as Colby offers up his own grimace and holds the button down on the coffee grinder. Don fights off the ebb and flow of nausea and Colby shakes the coffee grounds into a French press contraption.   
  
  
  
  
Two minutes later Don is sipping coffee that makes him sorry for every greasy black cup of bitter FBI brew he'd ever offered to Colby. The man obviously has more taste than any agent in their office should have when it comes to coffee. Colby tops up Don's mug once then pours the remaining coffee into the blender and before Don can object to the blatant waste, it's followed by chocolate soy drink, two bananas and a few scoops of some kind of protein powder.  
  
  
  
  
“Fire in the hole,” drawls Colby and he shrugs apologetically before firing up the blender.  
  
  
  
  
Don refuses his share of the drink as politely as he can, and Colby seems happy enough to consume the whole thing himself. He's the kind of guy that needs it. At his equilibrium, Colby is faster than Don and almost exactly even with David. But being a bigger kind of guy he walks a fine line where gaining another few pounds of muscle means losing a step in speed and where running everyday cuts into his muscle mass. It's a balancing act Don wants no part of, so he works out when time permits, eats green salads for lunch two or three times a week and doesn't think about it any further.  
  
  
  
  
Don finishes his coffee and looks so miserable mourning it's demise that Colby offers to make more. Weighing the grinder noise against the merits of more caffeine, Don declines.  
  
  
  
  
“I think I've been enough of an imposition already,” he says. They let that hang between them for a while, Colby working his way through his breakfast drink and Don yawning every few seconds.  
  
  
  
  
“If David asks, I left the bar with a leggy redhead,” Colby finally declares to break the silence.  
  
  
  
  
Don laughs and smiles, his eyes crinkling in a way that removes all tension from the room.  
  
  
  
  
“Yeah, okay.”  
  
  
  
  
Colby sets his dirty glass in the sink and nudges Don with his shoulder on the way past.  
  
  
  
  
“I'm going to take a run. You gonna be in the office later?”  
  
  
  
  
Don shakes himself a little. Work. Right. The whole reason Colby and David had taken pity on him in the first place, drowning sorrows with the boss like it was nothing.  
  
  
  
  
“It's Sunday?”  
  
  
  
  
Colby nods affirmation.  
  
  
  
  
“You know what? I think I might take the day off.”


	4. Ranger Granger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time I decided to give Colby a dog?

“What the hell were you thinking?”

 

Don sounds somewhat angry, but mostly relieved, so Colby knows everything has turned out more or less fine. He attempts a bashful smile, chokes up more filthy water instead. Don shakes his head slowly. Annoyed, Colby decides, more annoyed than angry. That has to be a good sign. Don's expression even softens a little as he leans forward.

 

“That was not your best idea, Colby.”

 

Colby wants to debate that, say something about how only results count, something Charlie would get a kick out of arguing mathematically later on. But Colby can't actually remember what the "not his best idea" had been, or how he came to be lying on cold wet pavement with Don's facing looming over him. 

 

He gets that he's hurt, figures that out when David throws a blanket over him and mutters something about the last thing the idiot needs is to go into shock. And David himself is favouring his ribs, flak vest on but not fastened, like he does sometimes when he's had a close call, not ready to take off the extra protection just yet. Colby attempts a questioning stare, but David waves him off immediately with the look that means don't even start.

 

“Good guys?” Colby manages finally, although his voice is weak even to his own ear.

 

“Narrow victory,” Don confirms.

 

“Bad guys?”

 

“Very slightly worse off than you,” grumbles David.

 

Then there are paramedics crowding over him and the other agents retreat, Colby lamely attempting to lift his head after them.

 

He remembers a bit more the next time he wakes up, but with diminished disorientation comes the realization of pain, and he knows he saved somebody, running out of cover to drag someone out of the bay, gunfire ringing past his head all the way. He just can't think too hard without feeling the need to throw up. They'll fill him in on the details later, when the act of breathing requires less of his concentration.

 

Megan is there when he resurfaces. Hospital noises make him move further away, her voice draws him up, a slow tug-of-war until he cracks his eyes open and she smiles at him.

 

"Hello, Agent Granger" she says pleasantly and smirks when he groans.

 

He has at least a hundred questions and even manages to prioritize, ensuring everyone is okay before getting a second reassurance they'd locked up the bad guys. But it's exhausting, so after a few minutes he just lets Meagan talk while he rests and tries to fill in the blanks on his end. Her story has good perspective anyways because while Colby got reckless and Don saved the world, Megan had half the pier cooly under control at gunpoint.

 

"Seriously, though. No more water for you," she says as her big finish. "David had to pull you out and his shoes are ruined."

 

"The man does have nice shoes," Colby laments.

 

"Not anymore," Megan deadpans.

 

"Where's everyone else? Paperwork?"

 

She waves at the files she's currently ignoring in answer.

 

"With Charlie?" he ventures next, because there's a tedious debriefing protocol for every time Charlie plays a big part in solving a case, which is, these days, almost every case.

 

"Don took Charlie home and David got stuck looking after your new best friend." Megan says, shaking her head slowly like she thinks Colby's off his rocker. "The bullet didn't knock around your head before it hit your leg and tipped you into the Bay, did it?"

 

Colby shrugs and pushes himself up painfully, trying to find a comfortable position of sitting enough to talk to Megan but reclined enough to not move the lower half of his body.

 

"I remember running on the pier."

 

"Yeah. You looked really heroic."

 

Something in Megan's deadpan voice is just sarcastic enough to set Colby thinking.

 

"Oh man. It was a dog," he says, remembering at last.

 

Megan laughs. "We tried not to make any jokes about how lonely you must be getting."

 

"I broke cover to wrangle a stray dog?"

 

"It wasn't a stray dog, it came off the boat."

 

"Even better. I broke cover to save a cocaine dealer's dog."

 

Megan nods her head, failing miserably at keeping the smile off her face.

 

"Don's pretty mad?" Colby winces.

 

"He calmed down when you didn't drown. Besides, you have to look on the bright side."

 

"There's a bright side?"

 

"If David won't forgive you for the shoes, you have a new best friend anyways. Apparently his name is Ranger. He's a nice looking dog when you're not bleeding on him."

 

"Perfect," Colby groans and lets his eyes slide closed again.

 

A few days later and Colby can make the cane look cool for a week or two but the temporary desk duty is another story. He's more than a little sick of watching everyone suit up and run out of the office without him and he's pretty sure he's doing permanent damage to his spine by holding the phone at his shoulder while scribbling into files. He's stretching when the team comes rolling back into the office.

 

David drops into his chair across from Colby. Don and Meagan lean on the edge of the desks.

 

"Cancel that search on the outstanding warrants. LAPD was arresting the guy as we drove up."

 

"Really?"

 

"Yep," adds Don. "Nothing like a little on-the-spot coordination effort."

 

"I don't suppose you found a way to coordinate the paperwork?"

 

"Sorry Colby, that's still you.

 

Megan turns back to her desk with a snicker and Don walks off smiling. They're still on Colby's case these days, not quite ready to forgive him for sticking his neck so far out for such a stupid reason. He expects if he hadn't been hurt, Don would have reemed the hell out of him for drawing them into a shootout.

 

Colby is still watching Don retreat when David's desk chair rolls in close.

 

"You have to take this dog from me, Granger."

 

"I thought you were taking him to a shelter. Like four days ago."

 

"I can't do that. He's too... I can't abandon the stupid thing. He grows on a guy."

 

"So keep him."

 

"I can't. No pets in my condo."

 

"Then put an ad in the..."

 

"Take the dog, Colby," David interrupts.

 

Colby sets down the file he was working on and turns in his chair so David can see just how put out he is to even be having this discussion.

 

"Adopt the dog?"

 

"Yeah."

 

"The dog named Ranger."

 

"Yeah. Granger, listen, it makes perf--"

 

"While I'm at it should I sleep in a manger?"

 

David shoots him a look.

 

"Stay out of danger? Be a flower arranger?"

 

Before he can add anymore, the chair next to Colby's is vacated and spinning, David just visible storming off over the cubicle walls. Colby smiles to himself and reopens his file as Megan's voice drifts over from next door.

 

"Take candy from a stranger."

 

Colby laughs. "Good one."

 

\---==='''===---

 

 

The dog ends up living at Charlie's house, which suits Don best of anyone because he'd love to have a dog like Ranger if he only had a big yard and a little more free time. This way he has full visitation rights and none of the hassle. And with the number of regular visitors Alan and Charlie have at the house, Ranger is never starved for attention.

 

Charlie is not a dog kind of guy, but he's starting to get used to having Ranger around, a shadow of black fur maintaining a patient background presence in the garage while Charlie works on FBI projects. And while Larry is almost always agreeable to a game of disk golf on campus, Ranger is a lot more enthusiastic when Charlie takes a frisbee break at home.

 

Charlie is applying probability statements to a GIS grid for Don when Colby stops by. It's gruntwork, basically. Don's selected a small criteria to use as variables and it's a struggle for Charlie to stay within the lines. He's thought of half a dozen more complex analysis he could run, and is explaining them to the dog in detail when Ranger barks once and runs to the door.

 

Colby's still using the cane, but it's a signal to everyone else to mind his bad leg more than it is for walking support. He's fine as long as nobody bumps into him. He still cringes when the big black mutt sprints at him, bracing himself for impact, but Ranger stops just short and waits expectantly for Colby to acknowledge him.

 

Charlie greets Colby with the sheepish look of an apologetic dog-owner.

 

"Sorry about that. I think I've been boring him."

 

Colby has already set his file folder and cane aside and he bends over to pet the dog.

 

"So this is the famous Ranger?" he asks.

 

Charlie's about half-certain Colby is asking the dog, but he answers anyways.

 

"Yeah. You haven't met yet?"

 

Colby looks up and grins. "We weren't formally introduced."

 

Charlie has to grin back at that. He's been quietly amused by the whole story, Colby running out into gunfire to wrangle a dog out of harm's way, getting shot and nearly drowning in the process. It's just so very Colby, reckless and well-meaning all at once. 

 

Ranger has sidled up as close to Colby's legs as possible without touching and his tail is going a mile a minute.

 

"Seems like he remembers you," Charlie comments.

 

"Yeah, he's kind of a nice dog. I feel a lot better about this whole gunshot wound thing."

 

"I'd let you take him home with you but Don would be devastated."

 

Charlie's been watching Don grumble about being a man short for days now; cursing Colby's name, injecting sarcastic comments about his heroism, but always with a poorly-concealed smile and more than a note of affection for the junior agent. And if Charlie had to pick one best effect from the Ranger ordeal it might be the eye-crinkling smile that breaks out on Don's face everytime he sees the dog.

 

"I'm trying to get back on your brother's good side," Colby says, finally breaking apart from the reunion with Ranger and reaching for his folder again. "Actually, that's sort of why I'm here."

 


End file.
